Cheating Life
by Grace317
Summary: Paris Wilkes is under pressure from his parents and struggles to fulfill his personal goals without losing their approval in the  years before the first war. The rise of Voldemort puts Paris's position between the worlds of his family and friends at risk.


This story is set about four years before the Marauders started at Hogwarts. As such, nearly everyone is an OC, and most of the recognizable characters don't play much of a role. Later parts of this are relevant to my other stories, though, I promise! This stared as a one-shot about a minor character and then sort of took on a life of its own. I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: Clearly, I'm not JK Rowling. If I were, I wouldn't be writing this. I don't own anything.

**Chapter 1**

1 September, 1960

"Aubrey, Jane!" became the first to try on the Sorting hat. She was a rather pretty girl, blonde and fair, with a few freckles on her nose, and slightly plump in a little-girlish way.

"Hufflepuff!" the hat called out after a few seconds. Paris Wilkes, already a bit worried about his own Sorting, had trouble taking any interest in Jane's.

"Austen, Giles!" A short boy with brown hair and glasses was placed in Hufflepuff rather less promptly than Jane Aubrey had been.

"Bennett, Janice!" was the next to be called forward. The Sorting hat had barely touched her curly brown head before she was put in Ravenclaw.

"Cecil, Natalia!" Another quick sorting later, Natalia Cecil became the first new Slytherin. Paris nearly cursed out loud. So, to do what his parents expected of him, he'd have to put up with Cecil? Could things possibly be any worse?

"Charles, Jason!" An intelligent looking boy with glasses was quickly put in Ravenclaw.

"Comyn, Kentigern!" took a much longer time to be sorted, but eventually became a Gryffindor.

"Conrad, Hippolyta!" then sat on the stool with the hat falling down over her cloudy grey eyes, tapping her perfectly manicured fingers against the wood (_What kind of eleven-year-old has a perfect manicure?_ Paris wondered) for about thirty seconds before joining Natalia Black at the Slytherin table.

"Duncan, Ophelia!" was placed in Ravenclaw a few moments later, but Paris barely noticed; his mind was occupied with different matters, namely the apparently prissy girl who had just taken a seat beside Natalia Cecil.

"Graham, Algernon!" went to Gryffindor a few minutes later after only a few seconds on the stool.

Next, to Paris's immense relief, came the Howard brothers, identical twins Henry and Hubert, both of whom ended up in Slytherin. Maybe putting up with people like Natalia Cecil for seven years wouldn't be so bad after all.

"Keith, Niall!" came next. A tall, gangling boy with red hair and a cheerful face was put in Gryffindor only after much deliberation by the Hat.

When "Lestrange, Rodolphus" was, predictably, put in Slytherin, Paris wondered why on earth he had thought that the next seven years in Slytherin wouldn't be too bad. Of course, sharing a dormitory with Rodolphus Lestrange had nothing on what Paris's parents would do if he weren't put in Slytherin….

Paris turned his attention back to the Sorting as a boy he thought Professor McGonagall might have called Lloyd was placed in Hufflepuff, followed momentarily by his sister.

As "Monahan, Gareth" and "O'Brien, Paul" were put in Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, respectively, Paris began to feel as if he had been hit with a particularly nasty jelly legs jinx.

"O'Flaherty…, Potter…," Really, could Mother and Father make him feel any worse than he did right now if he didn't end up in Slytherin?

"Prewett…, Ramirez…," That girl was pretty, and she'd seemed nice on the train. Maybe Slytherin would be all right, since she was in it.

"Roberts…, Rosier…," Or not. Evan Rosier was horrible! At least he wouldn't be competing for marks, though. Rosier was a bloody idiot!

"Spencer…, Stevenson…," Any minute now….

"Tracy…, Wells…," This was it….

"Wilkes, Paris!"

A tallish, thin, pale boy with honey-blonde hair and blue eyes stepped out of the dwindling line of first years waiting to be sorted, sat down of the spindly three-legged stool at the front of the hall, and donned the famous Hogwarts Sorting Hat with a sense of impending doom.

"Well," a small voice murmured in Paris's ear, "you're intelligent, obviously. A fair bit of courage, too. And you're not opposed to hard work. Ravenclaw, perhaps? No? Afraid your parents will cut you off if you're not in Slytherin? Ambition is rather lacking- you think it futile, since you feel as if you've already practically got the world at your fingertips- but you'll go as far as you need to to keep what you've already got. That's ambition of a sort, I suppose, so why not SLYTHERIN!"

Just as the Sorting Hat called out his House, Paris Wilkes woke to the ringing of the old fashioned alarm clock on the table beside his bed. He groaned at having to get up already- it was still dark outside the enormous arched windows that took up nearly an entire wall of his bedroom- but he had put his packing off until this morning, and it would be rather embarrassing for the Head Boy to miss the train on the first day of his seventh year. So Paris turned off his alarm clock and sat on the edge of his bed for a moment before picking up his wand from the table and lighting the candles that filled the chandelier in the center of the large, expensively furnished room. He then rose and dressed quickly, selecting his Hogwarts uniform, since he would be apparating directly onto Platform 9 ¾. Once he had asked the family House Elf to fetch his breakfast- toast and coffee- he began the long, arduous task of packing without magic, since last time he'd attempted that particular charm, he'd managed to shatter every last crystal vial in his Potions kit.

In the six years since his Sorting, Paris Wilkes had become a tall, handsome young man, well built but not overly muscular, with blue eyes, honey-blonde hair, and aristocratic features. Paris was not a Quidditch player, but he moved with the grace of an athlete as he meandered around his bedroom gathering up books, robes, and the like.

As Paris attempted to shut the lid of his now overflowing trunk, Topsy the House Elf returned to inform him that "Mistress is wanting Master Paris to come downstairs for his breakfast." Once Topsy was out of earshot, Paris gave a rather undignified growl of frustration, presumably with his mother (though it could very well have been the trunk), finally managed the lid of the trunk, and set off on the long journey to the dining room.

When Paris finally reached the dining room several minutes later, his parents were already sitting at one end of the long table, poker straight in high backed wooden chairs, eating in silence. Paris halted just inside the doorway, and cleared his throat to get their attention.

"Ah, Paris!" exclaimed Mr. Wilkes, in a jovial tone that was somehow out of place coming from someone quite so stately as Perseus Wilkes. "I see you've been made Head Boy."

"Yes, sir."

"You've done well. Twelve OWL's, if I remember correctly," Mr. Wilkes continued, still jovial, but as if this were nothing more than he expected of his only son and heir (which, indeed, it was).

"Yes, sir." Paris was beginning to wonder where his father's interrogation was going. Father seemed casual enough, but it was rare for Paris to be greeted with more than a "good morning" unless his parents wanted something.

"Remind me, which NEWT's are you taking?" Mr. Wilkes's voice was suddenly calculating.

"Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Arithmancy, sir."

"Very good." At this point, Mr. Wilkes apparently noticed that Paris was still standing in the doorway, and he added: "Please, come sit down and eat your breakfast. It would never do for the Head Boy to be late."

Paris silently crossed the dimly lit room, hardly noting the cloudy sky outside the huge east facing windows. He sat down on his father's right and began to eat his eggs, still wondering what his father was after. After a few minutes, Mr. Wilkes clarified:

"You've only got one year of school left, so it's about time you decided what to do with yourself. Naturally, you will enter the Ministry, but you have yet to choose a specific department."

Paris, who had no intention of doing anything of the sort, replied, "Yes, sir. I've tried to keep my options open by taking the most desirable NEWT's." It was usually best not to argue with his parents. If he got the job he wanted with Gringotts Bank, he would inform his parents that his plans had changed, and they would accept it.

"Excellent." Mr. Wilkes then turned his attention to the marmalade.

Paris had finished his eggs and toast, and was pouring a second cup of coffee by the time anyone spoke again. This time, it was his mother, a tall, handsome woman who was even more intimidating at sixty than she had been twenty years ago, who broke the silence.

"As heir to one of Europe's oldest and purest wizarding families, you will be expected to begin the search for a bride soon, now that you're of age," she said bluntly.

"Yes, ma'am." _Bloody hell! I haven't even finished school yet!_

"Which eligible girls do you know at school?"

"Carmen Ramirez, Victoria Potter, Janice Bennett, Maura O'Flaherty, Hippolyta Conrad, and Natalia Cecil, and Bellatrix Black are the first to come to mind, ma'am."

"Hmm. Well, we'll have to think about that, won't we."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Have you dated much?"

"Only casually, ma'am."

"Do you have a girlfriend at the moment?"

"No, ma'am. I had to put my studies first for much of last year."

"Well, I hope school will not be so demanding of your time this year. You will have to think more seriously about finding someone before all the girls from good families are spoken for."

"Yes, ma'am."

"But remember, I will by no means accept that as an excuse for neglecting your studies."

"No, ma'am."

* * *

><p>Paris apparated to King's Cross at ten thirty. Platform 9 ¾ was as good as deserted when he arrived: a few lost looking, obviously Muggle-born first years stood apart from each other, looking at the train as if getting on it was the most daunting task ever asked of them. There were only a few older students already on the train. Deciding that he'd rather not have his trunk with him while dealing with first years, Paris stowed it in a compartment near the end of the train before getting off again and approaching one of the most timid looking of the lot, a smallish, mousy haired boy who was staring at the train as if he's never seen one before.<p>

"Need a hand with that?" Paris asked, indicating the trunk sitting on the ground beside the boy.

The boy nearly jumped out of his shoes. "S-sorry, what was that?" the boy stuttered, once he'd regained his powers of speech.

"What's your name?"

"Tom Weatherby."

"Do you need some help with your trunk, Tom?"

"Yeah, thanks!" Tom bent over and grabbed one handle of the trunk.

"Don't bother, here," Paris said, pulling out his wand, "Wingardium Leviosa!"

"Cool! How'd you do that?" Tom was apparently gaining confidence.

"I'll show you in a bit. Let's go find you a compartment."

"Can't I sit with you?"

"No; I've got to be up front with the Prefects, to give them instructions and stuff."

"Are you a prefect, then?"

"I'm Head Boy."

"Cool! What year are you?"

"Seventh."

"What's your name?"

"Paris Wilkes. Look, Tom," he said, levitating the trunk onto the luggage rack in an empty compartment, "why don't you wait here? I'll go round up some more first years and be back; I've got to make sure they all make it onto the train."

"Okay!"

* * *

><p>Half an hour later, Paris was very relieved to escape the constant questioning of Tom Weatherby for the first Prefect meeting of the year. As he entered the forward-most compartment he was not disappointed: he found that the new Head Girl was Ophelia Duncan of Ravenclaw, with whom he had enjoyed working for the past two years, rather than Hippolyta Conrad, the other Slytherin prefect in his year. Hippolyta did not look pleased.<p>

Paris sat down between Ophelia and fellow seventh year Gideon Prewett of Gryffindor, taking a quick head count as he walked across the compartment.

"Is this everyone?" Ophelia asked after Paris had exchanged greetings with Paul O'Brien of Ravenclaw and Victoria Potter of Gryffindor, among others.

"No, we're still short two fifth years. Slytherins, in fact." He had barely spoken when Rodrigo Ramirez and Miranda Avery entered hand in hand.

"Sorry. We couldn't find the compartment."

"Whatever you say, Ramirez," Paris commented sarcastically, noting the pair's rather disheveled appearance. Rodrigo just rolled his eyes and sat down.

"Anyway," Ophelia cut in, "Now that we're all here, congratulations, fifth years! If you wouldn't mind, please introduce yourselves. We'll start with you, I think," she indicated the blonde girl on her other side.

"All right. Hello, I'm Shannon Monahan. I'm a Ravenclaw, and yes, I am related to half the school." Several people laughed. Shannon was one of seven siblings, and she also had half a dozen cousins currently at Hogwarts.

"Next."

"Hi, I'm Micah Browning, also of Ravenclaw, "said a tall, thin boy with medium brown hair.

"Matt Jenkins, Gryffindor."

"Ron Moreland, Hufflepuff."

"Hello, I'm Ellie Smith, Gryffindor."

"Mary Austen, Hufflepuff."

"Rodrigo Ramirez, Slytherin."

"Miranda Avery, Slytherin."

"Alright," Ophelia said, "well, the rules are that Prefects may dock points if we see other students breaking the rules-"

"But not liking someone is not an excuse to dock points-"

"And you cannot take points from each other."

"You cannot give detention, either. If you see another Prefect abusing his or her power, please report him or her to Ophelia or me-"

"Or one of the heads of house or Professor Dumbledore. Remember, it's your duty to keep order, so don't use the fact that you are a Prefect to break rules whenever there isn't a teacher around, because you will eventually be reported and you will lose your badge. Am I forgetting anything, Paris?"

"I don't think so."

"OK, passwords. Paris and I have all four of them, but you are only to know your own, so if everyone but Gryffindor wouldn't mind waiting in the hall…."

After distributing the passwords by calling the prefect into the compartment one house at a time, Paris and Ophelia reminded everyone to ensure that the first years (and everyone else, for that matter) made it to their common rooms that evening and dismissed the meeting. Paris then wandered off to the opposite end of the train in search of his best friends, the Howard twins. Sure enough, he found them in the compartment in which he had stowed his trunk. The more intellectual of the twins, Henry, sat on the floor playing chess with the lovely, dark haired Carmen Ramirez, Rodrigo's older sister, while Hubert sat bent over a Charms text, brow furrowed, working on his summer homework and Lauren Tracy, a rather plump, but still quite pretty, brunette with fair skin, hazel eyes, and a few freckles on her nose, read a teen witch magazine.

"Hello, Paris," Henry said, looking up. "How was your summer?"

"Miserable. Mother decided this morning that she has to marry me off soon, which rather put a damper on what was already the most boring summer of my life. All I really did was homework, other than getting my apparition license. You?"

"Our parents took us to the Bahamas for about a month. And Carmen here-"

"I can talk for myself, you know!" Carmen said indignantly. "I spent a month in Italy with my family- we've got a house there- and then Rodrigo and I spent a week alone in the apartment in London while our parents were in America on business, and then we spent the rest of the summer at home in Sevilla." She pronounced it in Spanish.

"Well, I spent the entire summer at home, too, Paris," said Lauren, not without a hint of envy for Carmen's adventures. Her home was a village in Oxford shire, and she thought it was the most boring place on earth.

"At least we've got our work done, eh?"

"Oi! So have I!" called Carmen indignantly from the floor. "Checkmate, by the way. Want a game, Paris? Henry's still got to do his potions."


End file.
